


Any Way the Wind Blows

by purpleeyesandbowties



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Fluff and no Angst, M/M, just those two!, post 159, pre 160, the safehouse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-09
Updated: 2019-11-09
Packaged: 2021-01-26 07:18:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,447
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21370297
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/purpleeyesandbowties/pseuds/purpleeyesandbowties
Summary: Jon and Martin escape the Lonely, take a train, and hug a lot.
Relationships: Martin Blackwood/Jonathan Sims
Comments: 13
Kudos: 205





	Any Way the Wind Blows

The walk out of the Lonely is much shorter than the walk into had been. Martin’s hand is in Jon’s, held tight like it might vanish at any moment, cold but growing warmer with every moment. Martin is trembling and Jon might be trembling himself. It’s hard to tell when all of his concentration is split between finding his way back to the Outside and making sure Martin is still with him. He flickers, sometimes, slipping back into that ghostly, colorless state Jon had found him in and forced him out of. Seeing it makes Jon’s blood run as cold as Martin’s skin feels. He’d given all he could to bring Martin back from the Lonely once. He wasn’t sure he could do it again, not with how tired he was at the moment. The second time Martin flickers, Jon’s hand involuntarily squeezes it tighter. He hauls Martin in a little bit closer, this time locking Martin’s arm under his own, pressed against his side, all while never relinquishing his hold on Martin’s hand. Martin flickers back to full color and blinks down at Jon.

“Alright?” Jon asks, barely a murmur. Sound is eaten up by the fog. He doubts he could scream, if it came down to it.

“It’s quiet,” Martin admits. “I got too used to the quiet.”

Jon nods. After a few more seconds, he starts to hum. Martin looks at him with surprise, but it’s the most emotion he’s shown since they started walking back, so Jon gives him a brief smile and continues humming. The melody comes to him from who knows where. It doesn’t feel like something the Eye is giving him, nor does it sound like anything he’s heard before. Maybe, after so many brushes with death, one becomes an artist on accident. He hums, and Martin smiles. Their hands, clasped together, are warm.

When they stumble out of the fog, they’re not in the Institute anymore. That’s probably for the best, Jon thinks wryly, looking around at the bland, quiet street. The few clusters of people and the absence of fog is enough reassurance that they’re properly out of the Lonely now. The Institute, which he instinctively knows is a few blocks away, is probably crawling with law enforcement and the last thing Martin needs is to be thrown in a solitary cell or held for questioning, alone in a tiny metal room.

Slowly, Martin disengages his arm and hand from Jon’s. The sudden rush of cold air against Jon’s side burns unpleasantly. Martin takes several steps away.

“Thank you,” he says, simply, like that’s all there is to say. Jon’s breath catches. He’s gotten good at reading people lately, and that’s a word that means the next one Martin’s going to say is—

“Goodbye.”

“Goodbye?” Jon repeats. Martin flickers. Before he can remind himself that Martin deserves a choice, every choice, the time and information required to make a choice again, Jon has his arms around Martin and he’s not letting go. For one terrifying second, he can’t feel Martin. Then his arms are full of warmth again, and he buries his face in Martin’s shoulder, just for a second, to make sure he smells like Martin and not the Lonely’s odorless cold. 

“Don’t leave,” Jon asks. Begs, nearly, or possibly entirely. He wants to say more. He wants to articulate all the ways that he needs Martin next to him, explain that he can’t go on with whatever madness lies in store for them by himself. But instead, he just says, “please.”

Martin lets out a short breath of air, like some invisible punch knocked it out of him. “Sorry. Wasn’t thinking straight. The Lonely still wants me, I guess.”

“It’ll have to get in line, then, because I want you more,” Jon says shortly. His face immediately flares red. “I mean—”

“I know what you mean, Jon.” Martin’s arms come up around him, holding them together. His voice is soft and warm and fully present. He sounds amused, even fond. Briefly, Jon remembers I really loved you, you know and thinks maybe the Lonely might have forced that -ed onto the phrase. It’s really not the most pressing thing at the moment, so he lets it go.

“So,” he says instead. “I’m sure someone will have a safe house somewhere.” The Eye, which had been suspiciously quiet since he’d used it to explode Peter Lucas, lets him know.

“Daisy,” he says decisively. “Scotland.”

Martin’s eyebrows jump. “Scotland?”

Jon shrugs. “I guess. I….I don’t really feel like traveling tonight, but I suppose we had better.”

“Yeah,” Martin sighs, and doesn’t move.

Somewhere behind him, he hears a wolf-whistle and comes to the realization that he’s still clinging to Martin like the world’s ending. To be fair, Martin is clinging back just as hard. They must look, to an outside observer, like a pair of lovers lost in their own world. Jon scoffs at the intrusion but doesn’t jump away like he might have in the past. Martin doesn’t pull away either. Together, they shuffle awkwardly down the street. Jon knows where to stop to flag a cab, then which ticket booth will have the shortest line for the fastest train, and then they’re on their way. They’d separated briefly to get the tickets and board the train, but now, tucked into a corner seat of a half-full train car, they press together again. Jon keeps his arms around Martin’s waist, and Martin’s ankle is hooked around Jon’s. 

“I’m sure this uncomfortable for you,” Martin mumbles into Jon’s sweater. “You know, holding me. You don’t strike me as a very cuddly guy, no offense.”

Jon sighs quietly, taking stock of the feeling of Martin’s body resting against his, his chest expanding and falling with even, peaceful breaths. He’s probably seconds from drifting off and, really, Jon should let him sleep. But he answers and feels Martin tense up against him.

“I’ve wanted to hold you for weeks, Martin.” 

“What,” Martin asks weakly. He shuffles even closer to Jon, and Jon takes the opportunity to press his face into Martin’s shoulder again. It’s easier to talk to Martin’s coat.

“When I woke up,” (he didn’t have to specify when. Martin knew), “I meant to find you and apologize. For how I’d acted, and for not understanding.” He cleared his throat. “Not understanding how I felt about you,” he clarified. 

“Which is?” Martin asks, almost too quiet to hear. “Please, Jon, I need to hear it.”

“I know, I know. It’s….difficult, though.” 

Jon growled quietly to himself, frustrated. He’d faced much, much scarier things than his own goddamn feelings in the past twenty-four hours. This should not be as difficult as it was proving to be.

“I….love you, Martin. God knows how I do, we’ve hardly had time to be friends, let alone—but, yes. I’ve wanted to hold you, to save you—for weeks. Months, even.”

“Oh,” Martin squeaks. His face is bright red, as red as Jon’s face feels. They listen to the sound of the train rushing along the tracks for a few minutes. Martin clears his throat.

“Well. That’s good, then. Good to know.” 

He pauses. “Uh, thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” Jon replies, feeling slightly ridiculous.

They pass a few more minutes in silence. “What now?” Martin asks.

“We keep safe, hide out. Try to stop Jonah, once we have any idea of what he’s up to.”

“Yes,” Martin agrees. “But I meant about us.”

When Jon doesn’t respond, he adds, “I need some time outside the Lonely to…..to get my brain right again. So I won’t commit to anything……uh. Yeah. But when you’re not, um, touching me, the Lonely creeps back in, just a little. So…..”

“So I’ll keep touching you,” Jon says briskly, trying to ignore how flushed he feels. He takes on, “it’s no burden on me, Martin.”

Martin nods, looking a bit more mollified. “And can I touch you back?”

Jon groans in embarrassment. “Please don’t say it like that. But yes, you may. Uh, hugs are fine. Handholding. Whenever. You don’t need to ask.”

Martin hesitates. Then he takes Jon’s hand and intertwines their fingers.

“Try to rest, Martin,” Jon says.

“Aren’t you tired?” Martin asks through a yawn, resting his cheek against Jon’s temple.

“Yes,” Jon admits. After the full honesty of their previous conversation, it would feel silly to lie about the ache of exhaustion settling into his bones. “But I can stay awake for a little while longer.”

“Mm. Just be here when I wake up, alright?” Martin asks. 

“I will.” Jon waits until he’s certain Martin is asleep before he adds, “Always.”

**Author's Note:**

> was the song Jon hummed to Martin Orpheus' melody from Hadestown? in my heart, the answer is yes. i'm sidras-tak on tumblr, come talk to me!


End file.
